My Prescriptions, Your Condolences
by Kuro49
Summary: 2nd person POV. Erik/Charles. Because you are it and you love it, but you won't ever have it.


This is first of its kind, little-editing, raw as it comes fic in **_2nd person POV_**, I can't stress this enough! It is faint on the Erik/Charles but really, you know I can't stray too far from it :D

I don't own as always and again: this is in **_2nd person POV._**

XXX

**My Prescriptions, Your Condolences**

XXX

You've got taste but no patience so when you down that bottle of scotch like it is another version of watered down tea, it is overwhelmingly bitter and not at all like you imagine it to be.

(But your expectation has always been high, you are Charles Fucking Xavier and your mother has been breathing down your neck for the very first few years of your life, even if you don't remember it to be the happy memories it is supposed to be, even if she is the first disappointment of a better part of your life.)

But then you are paralyzed and therapy is a living hell.

And _for what?_ you want to ask when you see blisters on your hands from turning the wheels on your— and you won't say it, not when you can't accept it yourself, but there is never anyone around to answer your questions. No one who knows your true condition anyway.

Your hands have only ever been accustomed to ink pens, you realize, the same way you only ever miss the pain after it goes away.

Because now you can't even feel a thing.

Though your question does get its answer, almost a year after, when the Brotherhood's attacks finally make the front page.

000

You have things you want to say to him and then you have things you can never say to him. Most of it is the exact same, but it isn't like you had the courage to try anyway.

But he has been kind and understanding even when you aren't.

He may think you are genuinely good but even you know, you aren't. _Don't fool yourself, Erik._ You want to tell him but you never really do._ You don't know what you can do, but I do. And I still do it without a hint of hesitation._

Your head is hurting like you know it does.

"How are you so persuasive?"

He has his sharp hips leaning up against the wall and when you grin up at him, you now remember that you used to be easy.

"Oh, and now you want to know?"

"I've always wanted to know." And he has never been defensive so you really don't understand his persistence, or the light in his eyes. Instead, you come away a little sad and detached because your charm has never once worked on him. "You've just never cared enough to really ask though."

"You can tell?"

"I can read minds, Erik."

"And I thought you've developed some kind of human perception."

"I am not that perceptive."

"You just don't care to learn."

He says and you agree because he isn't wrong.

Your head is hurting and you need to take your medicine.

(But you never really do, hasn't since the very first time you are prescribed to it.)

000

He keeps his mother's memories close to heart and turns the satellite in your name.

You should be proud and you are. But that isn't enough because you don't wake up one morning with pity. It comes much harder than that. It builds, slow but sure, and when it finally shows, you don't know how to keep it quiet.

And then he understands what you are feeling isn't one bit what he feels at all.

So he lets you have what only he can give.

Because he is considerate and generous (but only to you, you make sure of that.)

When it happens, he doesn't repress a thing, not the children he has seen (those younger than him, those still in their infancy) or the fragile thin wrists of the men and women who has once had a life. _You never forget_, he tells and it is with a near silent despair that he finally does choke up. _You can't forget._

"You hear gunshots, you see the dangling ropes. You see their feet hanging off of the ground. It's not something your mind allows you to forget."

Somewhere along the way, the pity goes away.

Still you can't name what replaces it. (Though, it isn't like you tried either.)

000

That has been his breaking point.

The moment in between all your time together that he gives up just so you can understand him more than the anger and the waves of pain he can probably never shake off. Before that, there are you, taking wild swings at his head.

But he is an expert and you never even cut close.

He bites down in warning, teeth closing over the swell of lips and tongues. But brute force is never enough, it is the motion of a slow pull, it is the drag of the blade that draws blood, he reminds you. (Because that is how he got exactly what he wanted: blood of pig farmers and tailors all alike.)

But you make him a promise on a whim and it goes something like this, because you are still so horribly new at this.

"I can teach you how to keep me out." _But first you have to let me in._

You don't understand the faint scoff or the shake of his head. But you do pick up on the _sure, why not_ that follows another kiss.

000

One day, it'll make sense.

And when it does, you won't be down on your luck.

But nothing goes right, not even when you try. Because it all comes back, one day.

He comes, void of drama and distracting capes. You don't expect an apology (after all it is only fair, those front pages have made you sad for weeks) but you haven't been anticipating a confrontation from months and months before.

"Are you proud now, Charles? You made me with your own two hands, shaped me until I am what I am."

But you understand exactly what he is saying and that is an improvement you can't say you had a chance to work at. And it picks up as though the two of you have been going at it for years.

And really, you did. You and Erik both just can't let it go. Can you?

"And how much was it unwilling, Erik? You never said no."

"No, I didn't, not since the first time I agreed to it. But I still don't know how much was it my doing or your… undoing."

"Maybe it was mutual then."

"Yes, Charles, _maybe_." He narrows his eyes like you will finally tell the truth. "And maybe one day you will find it in you to tell me the whole truth."

You smile because it doesn't work that way. (You have been telling the truth this entire time and it hasn't change a thing.)

"You assume I know it all. It isn't that easy, Erik. We both know that."

It is only that you still don't know what you are doing wrong to lose him this way.

You only remember all the nightmares he has had of you, and so you suppose it is better if you stayed out of his head. Because you can't tell him apart, not even if you have had the means or the methods to make this work.

"This is never going to end."

"Yes, perhaps."

He tells you.

000

You are still in your chair when it happens all over again but with a twist.

But it is mutants versus mutants because you still haven't gotten around to sorting out your past with the only one that matters and nothing has advanced all that far. And the people who stand on the sidelines, the ones being pulled this way and that, are both the hostages and the prizes neither really wants or needs.

(Because he has shown you that you are better off without them anyway. After all, you are best when you are with him.)

Still, you don't want this to be a freak show but you're acting out and his life is in danger.

And it doesn't matter that it is your students who are lying down their lives to be hurt and maimed in the name of your own personal cause. It only matters that their powers can make him bleed.

Your brain don't teach you what to do, because like the very first time, you are already reaching out to him, arms and mind stretching out to him in expectation like you know he will take your hand (and he does, thank god.)

You surely don't want this to end the same way as the very last time, but everything is shaping up to happen the exact same way.

You don't think you can take another break like that.

And you suppose, you lost it all the first time, this shouldn't hurt as much.

But you've been second-guessing yourself since he left. And he may not even think about you anymore (you can't tell, the helmet is always there to disagree with you) but you still think about him everyday.

And really, that is the problem with it all, you suppose.

(You don't see your students, or the fighting that has ceased, you only see him and there is blood when your hand comes away from his face.)

And it is still that same blue grey blue grey, he has your heart from the start, don't you see? (Oh, but this is just it, is it not? You can't love him more and he can't possible hate you more than he already does.)

XXX Kuro

I don't really know, I got it bad for them (_I wrote 2nd person POV_! /harsh whisper)


End file.
